


the forbidden south cove

by unityManipulator



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abduction, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Body Modification, Other, Oviposition, Reader-Insert, Tentacle Sex, dark southern cove........... show me the forbidden oviposition tentacles............., did i mention all of my smut is obscenely self-indulgent?, fun fact this is exactly how i'd react to a tentacle beast in a forbidden cove., it's druggy aphrodisiac slime ok it's fantasy i do what i want, mild drug use, one (1) mention of slight teeth trauma?, slightly?? that's what i was writing the slime as, time to get fucked and egged by a tentacle beast lads, weird tentacle slime does fun things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 16:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14312385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unityManipulator/pseuds/unityManipulator
Summary: The south cove had always been something spoken of in hushed tones, a warning that everyone had heard from their parents and their parents’ parents. Nobody ever really said what would happen if you swam in the south cove, but the warning was enough to make most people stay away.But the water there was calm and beautiful, and you’d grown tired of swimming the same old shores of the northeastern coast.





	the forbidden south cove

**Author's Note:**

> my friends kept bugging me to write more eggs so here you go. 4400 words of tentacle eggy goodness. 
> 
> i tried to keep the reader ambiguous in terms of gender, so i hope anyone can happily enjoy this! ♥ 
> 
> i wrote this in 7 hours of nonstop typing so if there are any errors PLEASE let me know

The south cove had always been something spoken of in hushed tones, a warning that everyone had heard from their parents and their parents’ parents. Nobody ever really  _ said  _ what would happen if you swam in the south cove, but the warning was enough to make most people stay away. 

But the water there was calm and beautiful, and you’d grown tired of swimming the same old shores of the northeastern coast.  It was barely dawn when you slipped out of your house, swimsuit under your clothes and towel in hand, and made your way down to the soft sandy beaches of the south cove. 

Stripping out of your clothes only took you a minute before you spread your towel across a dune and made your way to the edge of the waves. The water laps at your ankles as you dig your toes into the wet sand, and you shiver a bit at the cool air that hit your feet in between waves. You wade deeper and sigh happily as the water creeps up your calves. It’s strangely warm, warmer than you’d expect from the ocean before dawn, and you wonder again why you were warned against swimming here all your life. 

When the waves are chest-deep, you duck under the crest of the next wave and wipe the hair from your face as you come up for air. You take a few strokes out to sea before leaning back, spreading your arms and legs wide and floating on the water’s surface. The sky is ablaze with brilliant oranges and pinks, and you let out a satisfied sigh as the warmth of the water and the lull of the waves relax the tension in your shoulders. 

A soft brush against your leg tickles the back of your knee, and you gently kick towards it, assuming that it’s a stray piece of seaweed. The movement upsets your balance, and you get a faceful of the next wave that rolls towards shore. When you manage to right yourself and blink the saltwater out of your eyes, another brush against your ankle leaves you flinching again. You kick at it again, but this time it stays, tangling around your ankle and… giving a gentle tug?

Reaching down to pull at it only adds to your confusion, as your fingers are met with not kelp leaves, but smooth, slightly slimy skin.  _ A tentacle,  _ you realize, and the time it takes for you to realize that gives the mysterious beast plenty of time to wrap a second tentacle around your wrist. You try to yank your arm out of its grasp, but your effort is met with a firm pull back and you overbalance, flailing again as your head dips under the water’s surface.

Two more tentacles take this opportunity to wrap around your remaining limbs before you manage to take another gulp of air, shaking your head to try and get rid of some of the water running down your face. You squirm in the tentacles’ grip, but now that they have a hold on you by all four limbs you really can’t do much. You’re reduced to gasping air between waves as the tentacles move you around until you’re near-vertical in the water.

You struggle against their bonds as you feel a new tentacle creep up your thigh, brushing gently against the inside of your knee as the two on your ankles spread your legs wider. As you pull against them you feel the waves lap a little higher against your face, and you desperately tilt your head back to get a clear breath of air before you stop struggling. In return, the tentacles let you float higher until you can get a good breath again. The meaning is clear, and you reluctantly let the tentacle continue on its way.

You squirm as it brushes the intersection of your hip and thigh, but let it continue as a second tentacle pulls at your swimsuit, shifting it to the side. With a flick of its tip that you’re sure wasn’t necessary, the first worms its way into the new opening between your body and the cloth, and you flinch as it grinds against you. It feels slipperier than you’d expect, and you realize that this tentacle, unlike the others, is coated in a thick layer of slime that leaves your skin tingling wherever it drags against you. It prods gently against your ass, and you’re sure the gasp you let out could be heard from the shore when it rubs a tight circle with its slime.

It takes that as encouragement, as the next thing you know, your legs are being pulled apart even wider as it lets out another slow oozing of slime and presses its tip into your ass. You whine, shifting as much as possible without agitating the tentacles, but they seem to be a little more lenient with motion now that they’ve got access to your ass, working deeper as you squirm against them. The sensation toes the line between unpleasant and intriguing, and you buck your hips as the tentacle presses deeper.

It moves in a way you’re not quite sure about, pressing itself inwards an inch at a time before slowly drawing back out, leaking slime all the while. You’re sure it’s going to make a mess of your swimsuit, but that’s quickly forgotten as it picks up the pace, writhing back and forth as it pushes into you. You’re thankful for the slime as each movement presses it deeper into you, the tingles spreading across your stretched rim while the tentacle opens you up.

You’re panting and whining as you bring a hand forward to play with yourself. The tentacles, thankfully, give you this freedom, and as you rock your hips forward you can feel the slick tentacle in your ass begin to move with you, taking advantage of your own movement. It seems to have decided that it’s stretched you enough, instead focusing on working itself back and forth in time with your own thrusts.

The grips of the other tentacles tighten, and you have just enough time to wonder what you did wrong before you realize that they’re actually lifting you closer to the surface. The last tentacle’s movement slows, and you look down through the clear ocean waters to see a thick bulge about halfway up its length. The waves make it difficult to be sure, but you’re pretty sure you can see it moving up the tentacle. Before you know it, it’s drawn level with your ankle, then your knee, then looking down puts your face directly into the water and you can’t follow its path any more.

You’re immensely grateful that the tentacles are holding you to the surface when you feel it press against your ass, its progress slowing the slightest amount as it enters you. It’s softer than you expect, the shape buckling slightly when it’s pressed through your sphincter before rounding out again, and you press against your hand and cry out with your orgasm.

You’re left shaking long enough for a second bump to make its way mostly up the tentacle, followed by a third and fourth even closer. Soon, you look down and see that the bulges are separated by barely three inches, and you lose count after fifteen.

By the time the tentacle presses the last bulge into you, you’re uncomfortably bloated and can barely keep yourself afloat. Thankfully, the tentacles guide you to shore, only releasing you when you can keep your head safely above water when you fall to your knees. The soft sand is pliable under your hands, and as you crawl toward your towel you feel your stomach shift uncomfortably.

The day passes without incident, and you spend the time attempting to relax and sunbathe before the sun begins to fall, staining the sky with brilliant orange. You’re left wondering how you’re going to explain your swollen stomach to everyone at home before a shiver racks your body. Acting on a primal instinct that you don’t fully understand, you make your way on unsteady legs to the water’s edge. A tide pool, waves already crashing over its edge, catches your attention, and that same part of your brain that drove you to the water is already moving you toward it.

You pull off your swimsuit and crouch down, squatting over the water and letting the waves splash against your thighs. Not a moment too soon, because you’re barely in position before you feel something shift and the first of the orbs drops into the tide pool.

You reach down, curious about what exactly you’ve been housing for the past twelve hours, and as you pull it out of the water you realize it’s an egg! It’s soft and supple, almost like a frog’s egg, but no matter how much pressure you put against its outer membrane you can’t pierce it. Groaning as another egg makes its way out of your ass, you let the first one fall and resign yourself to the evening.

By the time all of the eggs are out of you (you counted thirty-four, but you might have lost count when you came about halfway through) the sun is almost completely down, and the streetlamps along the road have flickered on. You stand on shaky legs and quickly pull your clothes on, grabbing your towel and making your way home.

As you fall asleep that night, you keep thinking about how despite the way it started, you really did enjoy the experience.

  
  
  


By the time you get a chance to sneak away again, it’s been almost two weeks, and fantasies of the south cove have kept you crying out into your pillows every night. Your towel is slung across your arm, your tank top fluttering in the breeze, but this time, instead of a swimsuit, you’re wearing a normal pair of shorts.  If you’re going to meet the tentacles again, you rationalize, you might as well make it easier for them to fuck you.

You hastily spread your towel across the sand and pull your shirt over your head, kicking your sandals off as you do. You almost fall in your rush to pull off your shorts, and you’ve barely tossed them onto the pile of clothes before you’re running to the water, the cool morning air making your nipples stand on end as you splash your way into the sea.

When you’re waist-deep you switch to swimming, a whip kick that leaves you fully on display with every kick of your legs instead of your normal flutter kick. You stop when you realize how far from shore you are, and contemplate swimming back, but shrug it off as you tread water and eagerly wait for the brush of the tentacles against your legs.

After a few minutes, you switch to floating on your back again, doing your best to relax and be patient, but each moment that passes without the gentle grip on your ankle makes you a little more fidgety.

Finally, agonizingly slowly, a tender touch wraps its way around your leg, and without knowing if it can even hear or understand you, you murmur “hey there.” You spread your legs invitingly, and before long you feel a second tentacle against your other ankle, then a third and fourth against your wrists. 

You pull your wrist out of the water slowly, trying to keep slow and calm so that it doesn’t seem like you’re fighting the touch, and brush a gentle kiss against the soft skin of the tentacle. When you return your wrist to the water, it gives you a gentle squeeze in response and you smile.

They shift you again, leaving you to float vertically, and even though you know what’s coming you still flinch a little at the first touch on your thigh. It seems happy that you’ve left off your swimsuit, or maybe it’s just happy to see you, because it’s a lot more eager as it presses against your ass. The tentacle slips in easier this time, probably because of the way you’ve been playing with your ass almost exclusively since you were here last, and you moan happily as it presses a good two inches into you. Another tentacle works its way up your body, pressing against your chest and leaving a trail of the same tingly slime, and it takes a moment to brush against each of your nipples before it actually breaks the surface of the water in front of you.

You eagerly press a kiss to its tip, feeling the slime sink into your lips before you stick your tongue out and take a gentle lick.  It tastes slightly salty from the water, and the slime leaves your tongue tingling when you bring it back into your mouth. It only takes a moment before you open your mouth wide to invite the tentacle in, and it happily accepts the invitation, slipping between your lips and coating the entire inside of your mouth with slime.

The tentacle in your ass has started moving by now, an eager pace that leaves you just a little breathless as you suck air in around the one filling your mouth. More tentacles make their way upwards from the depths, wrapping against your arms and legs and lifting you towards the surface until your head is comfortably out of the water and you can focus on sucking at the tentacle instead.  It squirms happily in your mouth, pressing deeper as you bob your head gently before pulling back, letting you stay still as it thrusts back and forth.

Licking against it releases another spurt of slime, and as you swallow it the tingles spread down your throat and into your stomach. You eagerly suck at the tentacle and it presses further into your mouth in response, the tip pressing into your throat and oozing more slime that you can only respond to by swallowing. You’re pressing your ass back into the other tentacle, and it reacts in kind, thrusting in and out eagerly.

Suddenly, it presses itself deeper than it’s ever gone before, and you let out a loud moan around the tentacle gagging you. It responds with another gush of slime, and you suck at it eagerly. You feel the stretch of the first egg sliding into your ass, but the tentacle itself is so deep you don’t know when it actually  _ leaves  _ the tentacle. You feel the eggs slip into you one by one, each one matched with fresh slime in your mouth, and you’re lost in the overwhelming tingles by the fifth egg.

When they finish, the tentacles hold you afloat as you stare blissfully into the sky. When you manage to regain a bit of control over yourself, you press kisses against the tentacles you can reach, and they respond with gentle squeezes. They help you back onto shore, and as you crawl up onto the sand, you’re sure you weren’t this full last time… you also weren’t as horny last time, but you only came once in the water and you barely make it to your towel before you roll onto your back and let your legs fall open.

By the time sunset rolls around, you’ve already moved to the tide pool. You notice absently that the eggs you laid last time are gone, and you feel almost… proud? You don’t have time to think about that as you crouch down, rutting against your hand as the first egg slips out and you shiver happily. They come out quicker this time, but you’re not sure whether that’s coincidence or the way you’re eagerly fingering yourself in between every egg. There are closer to fifty this time, and when the last one falls out with a small gush of tentacle slime you feel like you’ve run a marathon, legs like jello, breathing heavily, but absolutely full of endorphins.

As you collect your towel and stumble home, you can’t help but think of when the next time you can sneak away is.

  
  
  


It becomes a weekly ritual after that. You’d sneak out early, stuff yourself with ever-increasing quantities of eggs (you were up to almost ninety and had moved to lying half in the water for the day before moving to the tide pool), then you’d come your brains out while laying them and stumble home at the end of the day.  You’d taken to wearing a buttplug through the week to keep at least a  _ little  _ feeling of fullness, and you spent most of your free time swimming in the northeast cove building your strength. You become more reclusive, sneaking away more and more to finger yourself open, usually in a restroom but sometimes you get especially daring and barely duck off of the pathway.

The next time you make your way to the south cove, you leave the house completely naked, instead choosing to drape your clothes over your arm and not even bothering with the formality of a towel. You’re not worried about being seen, nobody’s ever been out this early, and you can’t help but feel exhilarated as you walk down the path, tugging at your nipples and playing with the plug in your ass as the sea air blows over you. When you make it to the beach you immediately toss your clothes down, the plug following them, and as soon as you’re knee-deep you feel the familiar tentacles brush up against your ankles.

You laugh, making your way deeper, and soon you feel them snaking their way all around you. You let them pull you along (you’ve learned it’s easier than trying to swim) and you’re so lost wondering how many eggs they’re going to stuff into you this time that you don’t realize how far from shore you’ve gotten.

You do, however, notice when they pull you under the water for a second. It’s barely a dunk, but when you come up again you reflexively sputter and take a gasp of air. The tentacles curl tighter, binding your arms to your chest and your legs together, and you struggle before another tentacle forces its way into your mouth and begins filling it with that familiar slime.

Swallowing is a reflex at this point, and the instant you do, you feel a sense of calm immediately wash over you. You stop struggling and the tentacle retreats, leaving you to take a big gulp of air before they pull you under once again.

Your eyes sting from the salt, and you squeeze them shut as the tentacles drag you around with surprising speed. Just as you feel yourself slipping out of consciousness, you feel your face break the surface of the water, and you suck in a fresh lungful of air before opening your eyes.

You’re in what looks like a cave, with a small outcropping near one of the walls. Some light shines in from a few scattered holes in the roof, but the rock blocks most of it, leaving the whole room mostly dark. Moss covers the unbroken walls, and the only entrance seems to be from underwater. 

Before you get the chance to fully react, you’re deposited on the rock outcropping, your feet dangling into the water as a tentacle snakes its way to your mouth. Without thinking, you let your jaw drop, and it worms its way in and starts leaking slime. It’s different this time, but you can’t quite place how before an itch spreads across the sides of your neck. Tentacles curl around your wrists, stopping you from reaching up to scratch it, and you’re left to keep swallowing the slime pouring into your mouth until the burning subsides and your wrists are freed. 

Bringing your fingers to your neck reveals a pair of slits against your fingers, and you shiver as you gently play with them.  _ Gills,  _ your brain supplies, and you immediately test them by slipping off of the rock you’re sitting on and taking a big breath of water. You’re right, they’re gills, and you take a few more breaths before breaking the surface and switching to using your lungs again.

The tentacles let you play for a few minutes before taking hold of you again. Their intent is obvious, and you let out a happy sigh as the first tentacle presses into your ass and a second fits its way into your mouth. The eggs come quickly and from both sides, which is a first, but the slime you’ve been gulping down leaves your brain pleasantly fuzzy as the tentacle is pressed down your throat and the eggs are pressed directly into your esophagus. 

Reduced to breathing through your nose, you’re relieved to find that at least your gills are more effective than your lungs. You’d normally be lightheaded by now, but you feel fine, even going far enough to grab at another tentacle and rub against it, jerking it off until it wriggles out of your hand. Pouting, you don’t realize where it’s moving until it worms its way into your ass alongside the other one, forcing a gasp past your lips as they press into you in tandem. When one lays an egg, the other pauses, leaving you writhing in pleasure as a near-constant stream of eggs are forced into your ass. 

When they’re done, they withdraw, and you move to lift yourself onto the rocks before more wrap around you, spreading your legs wide and holding your arms in place. Another pair of tentacles press into you, and you cry out as they rub against overstimulated nerves. A third presses into your mouth and you feel the telltale bulge of yet another egg making its way past your lips.

You’re close to tears when they finally finish and let you go, and your crawl onto land can only be described as pathetic. You can barely move, and when you slump onto the ground and just let yourself  _ breathe  _ it takes a few moments before you can catch your breath. Taking the opportunity to look around, you don’t find a tide pool anywhere, and you assume that you’re meant to lay them directly into the water from now on. The thought of moving makes you groan in pain, and you let yourself fall into an exhausted sleep as your insides stretch from the eggs inside you.

You don’t sleep very deeply, but when you wake up the cavern is dark. Orange is fading from the sky when you look up, and you manage to wiggle to the edge of the rocks before a few tentacles help you down into the water. The eggs come out smoothly, and you’re sure that’s because of how stretched your ass is from earlier. 

When you’ve finally finished laying most of the eggs, you lift yourself out of the water again and sigh. The ones pushed down your throat were still inside of you, but at least the ones that had been in your ass were out. Making your way around the rocks, you find a small recess in the wall filled with old towels and other fabrics as a makeshift bed. Shrugging, you move to the room and collapse into the pile.

  
  
  


As you adjust to your new life, you notice the changes happening to you at an incredible pace. First you grow bigger, until you’re able to fit an obscene amount of eggs inside you. The eggs that once gave you so much trouble now barely make a difference when the tentacles press into you, and you progress to taking three or even four tentacles at a time. Your eyes adjust to the salt of the seawater and the darkness, and soon you spend your days mostly underwater, coming onto land to sleep and nothing else. You’re pretty sure your body temperature is higher too, because the water doesn’t feel weirdly warm any more, and soon the eggs you’re filled with are being laid in a few hours instead of half a day. The most unsettling are your teeth, as you wake up one morning missing half of them and go to bed with ones that resemble a shark more than anything else.

You explore the sea around your little cave, but soon grow tired of that. The farther you go, the more intensely you feel the urge to turn back, and you rarely venture out of the rocks after the first week or so. Instead, you’ve taken to diving deeper in the ocean within the cave. 

The deeper you go, the bigger the tentacles get, and the bigger the tentacles, well, the bigger the eggs. Thankfully, the slime you’re given near-constantly seems to have had an effect on your insides too, because after that first day, you’re never in as much pain when you swim to the surface, full of eggs, to wait until they’re ready to come out. The bigger tentacles test your limits, but you turn it into a sort of game with yourself to see how many eggs you can take. If you happen to overestimate, the tentacles don’t stop filling you until they’re out of eggs, and you end up overstuffed more than you’d like to admit.

You spend every waking hour full of eggs of all different sizes. Even when you’re laying them, a couple of the smallest tentacles keep you company, dancing across your gills and genitals to make you come as the bigger eggs leave your body. Sometimes they get lonely when you spend too long going deeper, and that’s when they get rough, holding you just under the surface as they stuff you full with eggs, fighting for position as each one tries to be first to deposit its load into your ass.

Sometimes you think back to the first day you threw caution to the wind, the day you started this entire scenario by disobeying your family and swimming in the southern cove. As a new tentacle thrusts into you, you realize it fills you with a sort of perverse joy how easily you ignored the warnings and fell into this new life. When the next tentacle comes to your mouth, you bring a hand up and hold it gently, kissing up and down its length as you happily murmur “fuck, I love being your breeding bitch.”

It gently curls against your face almost lovingly before drawing back and plunging itself eagerly into your mouth, and you assume that the feeling is mutual.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @[osteoclastics](http://osteoclastics.tumblr.com)!!


End file.
